Friday, June 17, 2011

For a long time, Kit only remembered floating, like the scene in The Empire Strikes Back where Luke Skywalker was in the bacta tank after nearly dying on the ice planet Hoth. Except Kit was horizontal, not vertical. It was warm and dark. He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t care. On occasion, Kit heard distant, muffled voices but paid them no mind. He wondered how long he had been floating like this.

But he began to realize when it was coming to an end.

At first the sensation was just a tremor, a quick muscle spasm. Then it grew to a faint ache. It troubled him that these things were disturbing his time in the bacta tank. Kit tried to move but was not sure his limbs were working.

After a while Kit relaxed and continued to drift through the soupy blackness, content and at peace. Once more, it did not last. Something tingled, itched, and began to burn like napalm. He wanted it to go away. It subsided for a while, which led him to believe it was all in his mind. He just wouldn’t think about it anymore.

The next time it struck it felt like being hammered with a white-hot baseball bat. Kit thought he might have moaned. He heard something that sounded like one anyway. The sensation lessened but not enough to let him drift any longer.

This time he knew that he was moaning. He heard more voices, closer this time.

Where…am I?

His mind made no sense to him. Flashes of memory and bits of experience tumbled around like socks in a dryer. He attempted to catch one or two, but they always seemed to flip out of his reach at the last moment.

The darkness faded and became charcoal gray. Was it dusk? Early morning? The burning sensation continued. Kit tried to move, to get away, but it followed him. He groaned. Moving his body made it worse.

What’s going on?

“He’s coming out of it,” a voice said somewhere in the charcoal.

Kit realized he was lying down and with that awareness came another wave of pain. It felt like waves of fire were washing up and down his body. Charcoal gave way to ash, and that in turn became a diluted white as he lifted his eyelids.

“Mr. McNeil, can you hear me? How do you feel?”

Kit didn’t recognize the voice or the face that came with it. He squinted, blinked.

“I’m Dr. Khamavant.”

More blurry faces looked down at Kit. He raised one hand to rub his eyes and felt something attached to his finger and arm.

“Just take it easy,” Dr. Khamavant said.

The doctor pulled one lid open and waved a bright light in Kit’s eye. Kit flinched.

“Yes, I know it’s uncomfortable, but you’re recovering nicely.”

Kit’s vision finally cleared, and he saw Dr. Khamavant. She was from India or Pakistan, a Hindu most likely given the red bindi on her forehead. Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her dark chocolate eyes were framed by long lashes. She smiled in a way that made Kit feel safe as her fingers checked the injuries on his head.

“Hey, buddy!” Troy said.

Kit smiled or thought he did. Troy smiled in return, so he must have succeeded. There was relief on his friend’s face.

“Hey there,” Courtney said.

“Wh-where—”

Courtney took his left hand. “You’re in the hospital.”

“H-how’d I…get here?” The socks kept spinning just out of his reach.

“It’s a long story,” Courtney said. “Just take it easy right now.” Her concern was like a fuzzy blanket.

Dr. Khamavant touched his leg. Pain flared and Kit grimaced.

“Sorry,” the doctor said. “I need to see how this is healing.”

Kit watched her undo the bandage that covered his thigh. The flesh around the stitches was red.

A wound? Stitches?

“It’s looking good, Mr. McNeil,” the doctor said. “How’s your pain?”

“P-pretty bad.” His mouth felt like it was filled with that pink insulation people put in their attics.

“Okay, I’ll get you something for it.” She left the room only to be replaced by a nurse with an IV bag.

“Besides the pain, how do you feel?” Troy asked.

“Like…like I’ve been run over. By a train. Twice.” Kit looked at Courtney. “What happened to me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”

Kit started to shake his head, but the movement made him nauseous. “No.”

“You…you were in an accident,” she said. “The doctor said that with a concussion as severe as yours, your short-term memory would be affected. But it’s not permanent. It’ll come back soon.”

“I was…in an accident? Where? When?”

The nurse adjusted the drip, checked Kit’s arm, and instructed him to relax and rest.

“Don’t worry. We’ll talk later,” Courtney said with a smile.

Kit started to respond but felt woozy. The socks spun and the bacta tank enticed him back.

 

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Kit awoke, ate his lunch—his first solid food in several days—and drifted off to sleep again. He was flipping through television channels when someone knocked, and the door opened. Troy and Courtney were all smiles when they entered.

“Hey,” Kit said.

“Hey, yourself,” Troy replied.

They pulled chairs beside the bed. “How’re you feeling?” Courtney asked.

“Better. I think. Leg still hurts like crazy. Itches too.”

“That’s good. Means it’s healing,” Troy said.

Kit grinned. It felt good. In fact, since the fog of the pain medication had lessened, everything felt good. Not physically, of course, but internally. He felt as if he had gone through some kind of rebirth. Even the light streaming in his window seemed brighter. Diaphanous. “And when did you get your medical degree, Dr. Wallace?” Kit teased. They exchanged pleasantries and caught Kit up on the news for a while.

“I can’t believe I’ve been here since Friday,” Kit said.

“Thursday, actually,” Courtney corrected. “Thursday evening.”

Kit was silent a moment. His face grew pensive, his gaze distant as he stared out the window. “I remember it now. All of it.”

Courtney took Kit’s hand. “I told Troy everything.”

“Yeah,” Troy replied. “Damn. Who would’ve ever thought, right? All the crazy stuff about this town all came from—” He didn’t need to finish the thought. “Is it…is it dead?”

Kit shrugged. “I hope to God it is.”

“Well, I’ve heard that the patches of blight are shrinking. Some folks even say it’s vanishing altogether,” Courtney said.

Suddenly, Kit turned to Courtney, his face pale with fear. “Jillian and Whitney! Are they—”

“They’re fine. They’re okay,” she reassured him. “Well, aside from seeing things that’ll traumatize them for the rest of their lives.”

“But they screamed,” Kit said. “We heard them screaming—”

Courtney nodded. “They ran into the police on the mountain. Agent Mack said you telephoned him just before you left the old school. That was a smart idea. You made it seem like you were on your own but had backup on the way.”

“I’m just glad they took me seriously.”

“They scared the girls half to death, but one of the officers escorted them off the mountain. They also gave the officers some directions that helped them find the cave quicker,” Courtney said.

“I owe them my life then,” Kit said. “If Mack and the deputies hadn’t arrived when they did—”

“We owe you our lives,” Troy said.

“Agent Mack and Sheriff Owens have been by to check on you a couple of times,” Courtney said. She made a pained face. “They’ve, uh, got some questions.”

Kit grinned. “Yeah, I’ll bet they do.”

“Oh, you know what else?” Troy said. “Your dad has been by too. Twice.”

Kit raised his eyebrows. “No shit?”

Troy nodded. “He’s been really worried about you.”

Kit chewed on this for a moment but was interrupted when Troy spoke again.

“Do you think your…curse-thing is gone? You know, about you touching people?”

Kit shrugged. “I hope so. Maybe having the lock and key go straight down her throat got rid of it. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if I have any more blackouts.” He looked at Courtney. “I need to tell you something—both of you. I’d…made up my mind that I wasn’t coming back. It was supposed to be me in that pit.”

Courtney couldn’t hide her surprise, and Troy stared at him.

“I figured if Edgar had been able to restrain Uyaga somewhat by just dying in the cave with that paper, then I might be able to do even more…by going into the pit.”

Tears formed in Courtney’s eyes. “Kit, why?”

“Come on, you both know why. My life has been one big mess for as long as I can remember. I just… I didn’t see any other way. If I wasn’t around, the curse couldn’t affect anyone else. And if there was a chance I could keep that thing from doing any of her shit again, I thought I had to try. You both know I’d been thinking about…killing myself. When I realized what Edgar had done, well…”

Silence descended, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the IV unit. The muted television showed a dog food commercial. A bird flew past the window.

Courtney squeezed Kit’s hand. “What changed your mind?”

Kit looked out at the clouds and the brighter-than-before sunshine, then turned back to her. “Just before I was about to go through with it, Scotty started beating the hell out of me. I thought I was about to die.” He gave a humorless snort. “I mean, I was dying, and…and then I saw my mom… She was smiling at me.” Tears rimmed his eyes. “And for some reason, I don’t know why, I suddenly just—”

Courtney kept squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

The tears slipped down his cheeks. He used the heel of his hand to wipe them away. “She…she…spoke to me.”

“What’d she say?” Troy asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Despite the tears that kept flowing, Kit smiled. “She…she said—” He stared into Courtney’s eyes. “She said, ‘Change the ending.’ And that she loved me.”

Courtney put her free hand over her mouth. Tears crept down her cheeks.

Kit wiped his face again and sighed. “That’s when I just… I got so pissed off at Scotty for beating on me and causing all this. I just…didn’t want to die anymore. He had so much blood on him. It just came to me to give that son of a bitch the paper.”

“Good for you, man,” Troy said. “Good for you!”

Courtney pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside tray table and dabbed her eyes. “I am so proud of you.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Yeah,” Kit said, “come in.”

Agent Mack and Sheriff Owens entered.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Sheriff Owens said, taking off his hat and offering a smile.

Agent Mack asked how he was doing. Kit told him that he’d suffered a major concussion, two broken ribs, numerous cuts and bruises, and had required surgery on his thigh. The bullet had passed through the tissue, but all the extra exertion he’d put it through had worsened the wound. He had another few days in the hospital before a week in rehab. After that, he’d be able to rehab at home.

“So you’re going back to Nashville?” Sheriff Owens asked.

“Yeah. Well, actually, I don’t know. I haven’t decided,” Kit answered.

“Agent Mack and I need you to go over some stuff about what happened up there,” Owens continued. “Both of our reports are going to require some”—he worked his mouth from side to side— “creative embellishment, but we can do that tomorrow.”

“We wanted you to know,” Agent Mack said in his deep, rolling voice, “that the cave will be sealed off completely. I’ve made some calls. We plan to blow up the caves and keep that horror buried forever. We’ll release a statement to the press that part of the mountain had to be sealed off due to the discovery of cinnabar.”

Kit squinted. “What’s that?”

Agent Mack crossed his arms. “It’s an extremely toxic mineral. It used to be mined primarily for mercury, and it’s deadly in large quantities. Even small amounts of exposure can cause significant health issues. The US Geological Survey will—ahem—confirm the findings and release their own statement about the actions on Blackpoint.”

“A cover-up?” Troy asked, astounded. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Kit sighed. “It’s either that or the story of an evil Indian monster that lives in a pit and kills people and cursed the town.”

“Toxic minerals it is then,” Troy agreed with a lopsided smile.

Kit looked at Agent Mack and Sheriff Owens. “Did you catch Jimmy Earl?”

“We did,” Sheriff Owens said. “Found him wandering on the mountain. We arrested him, but I don’t think he’s going to be much help.”

“Why’s that?” asked Kit.

“He’s scheduled for a psych eval, and to be honest, I don’t think he even knows what planet he’s on anymore. He’s completely lost it,” said Sheriff Owens.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Kit said. “What about your deputies? I mean, what they saw up there—”

Sheriff Owens nodded. “They’re on paid leave so they can process and deal with…what they saw. They’ll get counseling for PTSD. Both of them are strong. They’ll be back eventually.”

Kit smiled. “That’s great. What about the bodies in the cave?”

“They’re all at the morgue. Thanks to you, we can close the cases on Melody Sellers, Tyson Collinsworth, and Meredith Walston,” the sheriff said.

Agent Mack glanced out the window, then back at Kit. “A forensics team from Nashville is working on the identity of the Hispanic victim, and they’re reconstructing all the skeletons. They’ve got three children so far and figure to have at least that many adults.”

Kit nodded. “What about the journal? Did you find it?”

“Yep. It’s in evidence lockup now. Why? You want to see it?” Sheriff Owens said with a good-natured smile.

Kit raised his hands to ward off the sheriff. “Hell no!”

Agent Mack and Sheriff Owens laughed. “Listen, we’ll come back tomorrow if that’s okay,” Sheriff Owens said.

“Sure,” Kit replied.

“That way we can put this madness behind us once and for all,” Owens said. He put his hat back on and paused before going out the door. “You did good, Kit. I can’t imagine what you went through up there, but we appreciate it. Thanks.”

A warmth spread through Kit’s chest. He’d really done something good. Something right. He could almost feel his luck changing, and he’d never felt such clarity and wonder about the world around him. Everything he saw now revealed something he’d never noticed before. It felt good to be alive.

Kit looked at Courtney. “There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

She smiled and waited.

“When I get out of here…how about you let me take you out to dinner?” The words flowed effortlessly. Kit felt so satisfied that even if she said no, he’d be fine. Rejection didn’t bother him now. But he hoped she’d say yes.

A quick glance showed Troy, goggle-eyed and mouth open in a flabbergasted grin. He gave Kit a thumbs-up.

Courtney smiled. Her face reminded him of golden sun dancing on the surface of a lake, pure and precise, blinding in its glorious intensity.

“I’d love that,” she said.

 

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Kit occupied the passenger seat of Troy’s Ford as Troy drove west on County Road 501. They planned to hit Highway 127 and connect with I-40 toward Nashville. Wispy clouds brushed across the sky, and the morning sun forced its heat inside the cab of Troy’s truck.

The blight really was disappearing. Kit saw almost none when they drove through town. He hoped it meant Uyaga was well and truly gone.

He’d been discharged last Tuesday. Albert had invited him home with a sincerity Kit hadn’t known the man possessed. It seemed his father had changed. Albert had even prepared the living room so Kit wouldn’t have to climb up and down the stairs on his bad leg.

Kit still couldn’t drive, which was why Troy had taken the day off to shuttle him to his apartment. Kit had decided to stay in Black Rock a little longer. He knew he had to go back to Nashville at some point but was in no hurry. This trip was just so he could put a few affairs in order that had lapsed in his absence.

He’d been using his convalescence to re-evaluate his life and his choices. Once he could stand without the aid of crutches, Kit was going to find another band in need of a guitarist. And this time, he’d be reliable. If he was going to make a career from music, it was well past time to get serious.

Things were going well with Courtney. They’d had their date a week ago and scheduled another for next week. Not only had their shared experience drawn them together but they’d also found a connection with one another that filled their emptiness. Courtney had convinced herself she’d never feel whole and loved again, and Kit had convinced himself that he wasn’t worth loving. She was changing that. It made him smile to think about how lucky he was.

Me, lucky? How about that.

As they listened to the radio, Troy asked, “Do you know what today is?”

“Wednesday.”

“It’s June 29.” When Kit still looked perplexed, Troy added, “It was thirty years ago today that we saw Melody Sellers in the woods with Greg and Jeff Dunley.”

Kit thought for a moment. “Wow, yeah, you’re right.”

That was all either needed to say.

 

Friday, July 1, 2011

South of Melvine, east of Upper East Valley Road, and just inside the southern border of Scarburn County, the hamlet of Crocketville prepared for its annual Fourth of July celebration. Twelve-year-old Madelyn Greenwood sat outside the community center while her parents worked inside on the decorations. Cell to her ear, she talked to her best friend, Hannah, about her crush, Cameron Dalton. Madelyn walked around the concrete building and through the gravel parking lot, lost in conversation.

Trees bordered one side of the property, and she ambled along them, swatting the low-hanging leaves. Something squelched under her shoe.

“Oh, gross!” Madelyn said.

“What?” Hannah asked in her ear.

Madelyn wiped her shoe on the grass. “Ugh, I just stepped in something!” Behind her, a pale, spongy growth about the size of a CD bore her footprint.

“Maddy? Hey! You still there? What’s going on?”

The brown-haired preteen lifted the phone. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“What was it? Dog shit?”

“No, it’s white. Looks like somebody spilled ranch dressing. Ugh! And God, does it stink!”